


Incoming Call

by Finduilas



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Blood, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Finduilas/pseuds/Finduilas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>The phone disconnects after a thud and a crash and Derek is left yelling out Stiles’ name into dead air. He calls back immediately, and the phone rings and rings until Stiles’ perky voicemail message comes on. Derek ends the call the second it goes over to voicemail, and calls again, and again, while he’s grabbing his keys and running out to his car.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incoming Call

**Author's Note:**

> Fic based on [this amazing fanart](http://finduilasclln.tumblr.com/post/76110570630/tsuminubiaru-incoming-call-the-phone) made by Tsuminubiaru.

The phone disconnects after a thud and a crash and Derek is left yelling out Stiles’ name into dead air. He calls back immediately, and the phone rings and rings until Stiles’ perky voicemail message comes on. Derek ends the call the second it goes over to voicemail, and calls again, and again, while he’s grabbing his keys and running out to his car.

Derek isn’t quite sure how long the drive over to the Stilinski house is, especially not at the speed he’s going, but he’s sure it isn’t fast enough. He isn’t going over any possible scenarios in his head, because he refuses to believe that he’ll find Stiles any other way than alive. The phone he’s got pressed to his ear, ringing, ringing, but not being picked up, is like a whisper that there might be another possibility after all.

He leaves his car on the driveway of the Stilinski house, the door left open as he circles the house, following the ringing of his own phone call. The backdoor is open, the window smashed in, and Derek’s heart stops short as he sees Stiles laying on the kitchen floor, blood running down his face, his fingers clenched around his still-ringing phone. It’s when Derek sees his own face staring up from between Stiles’ fingers that he notices he’s still gripping his own phone, and turns it off quickly.

“Stiles,” Derek says, his voice sounding hollow in his own ears, as he slides down on the floor next to Stiles’ still body.

Derek closes his eyes, his hand hovering over Stiles’ face. He holds his breath, and tries to listen over his own deafening heartbeat until he finally finds it – a faint but still-beating heart. Stiles’ heart.

“Thank you,” Derek whispers, not sure who he’s thanking, as he’s sliding his arms underneath Stiles’ body, hugging him to his own chest as he raises him off the floor. The phone slips out of his hands, forgotten on the floor.

The ride to the hospital is ripe with traffic violations, and Derek keeps glancing over to the back seat to check on Stiles. At the hospital, doctors and nurses pick Stiles out of Derek’s arms and disappear with him between behind double doors. Derek slumps down in one of the hospital seats, closes his eyes, and focuses his hearing on Stiles’ heartbeat.

He isn’t sure how long he sits there, the plastic chair uncomfortable against his back, his eyes closed, his ears straining to hear Stiles’ heart. It’s only when he keeps rubbing his fingers together, finally noting the stickiness on them, that he looks down to see blood on his hands. Stiles’ blood. Derek can’t remember when he touched Stiles’ face, but he must have, or why else would his fingers be coated with Stiles’ blood? He clenches his hands into fists, not sure whether he wants to wash off the blood as soon as possible, or whether he wants to hang onto it… because what if it’s the last thing he’ll ever have of Stiles?

The thought makes him jump up off his chair, his stomach turning in nausea. He should call Scott, he should call the sheriff. He should do something. But he doesn’t.

He can’t.

And the panic wraps itself around him when he realizes that he’s lost his grip on Stiles’ heartbeat. For how long?

Derek takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and focuses on Stiles. He tries to drown out the rest of the noises surrounding him. There are machines beeping, doctors and nurses babbling medical lingo, a woman crying somewhere, a baby hiccuping. But slowly he finds his way back to Stiles, to the slow but steady thump of his heart. It’s only then that Derek lets out his breath.

It takes forever for the doctor to finally come out and find him.

“You were the one to bring him in?” the doctor asks, looking down at the chart in his hands.

“Yeah,” Derek says, rubbing his fingers together nervously.

“And you are…?” the doctor asks, looking at Derek expectantly.

“Family,” Derek says without even thinking about it, because he’s learned not to say ‘pack’ around people, because… because ‘family’ feels right.

The doctor nods. “Well, Mister Stilinski has a severe head trauma, and we want to keep him here for observation for at least 48 hours, maybe more, depending on what happens during that time.”

Derek nods solemnly. “Will he… Will there be lasting effects?”

“That’s what we want to establish in the next 48 hours,” the doctor says, and Derek can feel his stomach plummet at the words. “But things look good. We don’t expect any lasting damage. We just want to make sure. Keeping him here is more of a precaution.”

Derek nods again, swallowing hard to bite back his concern.

“We have been able to contact his father, he’s on his way,” the doctor goes on, already looking back at the chart, and Derek knows that’s all the time he has with the doctor. “Would you like to see him?”

The question takes Derek by surprise, but he finds it impossible to say no, and follows the doctor to the right room. The door clicks shut softly behind him as Derek takes in the sight of Stiles lying in the hospital bed. His skin is still pale, the blood cleaned up, a bandage covering his head wound. His hair in unruly, his arms unmoving next to his body, hooked up to IV lines. Stiles’ eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted, his heart beat beeping strong from the machine.

Derek doesn’t pull up a chair, he isn’t planning on staying long. He just needed to see, with his own eyes. The heart monitor is loud in his ears and Derek tries to tune it out, tries to find Stiles’ heartbeat without it. He carefully places his palm over Stiles’ chest, on top of the flimsy hospital gown that Stiles will no doubt whine about when he wakes up.

‘When he wakes up.’ It sounds good to Derek.

He closes his eyes, his fingers tingling with the soft, steady thump of Stiles’ heart underneath them.

Stiles is alive.

Stiles is alive.

The corner’s of Derek’s mouth tug upward in a soft smile, and as he finally opens his eyes again, he’s startled to see Stiles’ eyes on him - somewhat unfocused, but definitely on Derek.

“Stiles?” Derek whispers.

“My head hurts,” Stiles whispers back, his voice rough and unsteady. Stiles’ chest vibrates underneath Derek’s touch as he speaks.

“You have a head trauma,” Derek says, softly. “But you should be fine. You’ll be fine.”

Stiles nods minutely, and when Derek wants to take his hand off Stiles’ chest slowly, as if not to startle Stiles, Stiles only covers it with his own.

“What happened?” Stiles asks, his fingers curling around Derek’s hand.

“We were on the phone, remember?”

Stiles is quiet for a second, and Derek can tell he’s trying to think back, trying to remember what happened, but then he shakes his head, his eyebrows pulled together in worry.

“That’s okay,” Derek says, reassuringly, “‘s normal. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re alive.”

“Because you found me,” Stiles says, a small smile tugging at his lips, and it isn’t even a question. Because Stiles may not remember what happened, but apparently he’s confident enough in the fact that Derek will always find him. It’s a responsibility Dere vows never to abandon.

“I found you,” Derek confirms, as he goes to sit down on the edge of Stiles’ bed, his hand firmly sandwiched between Stiles’ hand and heart.

And Derek thinks he can stay a little while longer.  


End file.
